


Existentialism

by whorror_jpeg



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 05:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20092036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whorror_jpeg/pseuds/whorror_jpeg
Summary: In which the reader finds comfort in her boyfriend.





	Existentialism

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiiiii, I’m back, for now at least. Hope you enjoy <3

Michael sat on the floor in front of the foot of your bed, playing a game online, even though you had quit playing an hour ago. He could tell you were having some problems, you knew he could tell, but he left it alone until you were ready to talk about it.

You rolled your eyes at your phone again, throwing it on your bed and shuffling towards the end of it, hanging your legs over the footboard of the bed frame and resting them on Michael’s shoulders. He looks up for a second, smiles, then trains his gaze back to the game.

“You about to start a new round?” you ask softly, running your hands through his hair while he played.

He hums, nodding, “After I kill this guy-” and at that, his character died. He stared at the screen and huffed, only halfway upset. The sound of prepubescent boys yelling profanities and cheering played in the background of the room. His eyes looked up to you, head tilting backwards as he smiled.

“Stupid kids.” you mumble with a grin, kissing his forehead lightly.

“Did you wanna join?” he asks, handing you the controller after you nod.

You played a round, losing, which he knew you never did. You didn’t even give it your best, he observed, you half-assed it as a form of distraction for whatever it was that was bothering you.

Michael gave you a knowing look, and you sighed as he turned off the console and TV, joining you on the bed. He crossed his legs, sitting next to you, and resting his head on your shoulder.

“What.” you say, rather than ask. It was your way of telling him you knew that he wanted to talk, to get it over with. He smiles and pecks your shoulder, “What’s wrong now.” 

You roll your eyes and throw yourself against the mattress, groaning.

“Kendall and Bri.”

He gives an acknowledging “ahh”, nodding once, slowly. You had had problems with them recently, but not wanting to talk about all of them, or sound complex and problematic.

He gives a look, telling you to continue.

“It’s the same problems; they don’t wanna hang out with me anymore, they’re hanging out with each other, not considering that maybe I miss them… it’s all petty stuff.” 

Michael puts his hand on your knee, giving it a loving few strokes, “**Not to dictate your life,**” he begins with a smirk, letting you know he’s joking, “**but drop your friends.**” he shrugs, like it was easy. You chuckle and sit up to throw your palm to his shoulder, giving him a push. He giggles and brings you to his chest. 

“Seriously, though. At least talk to them. It never hurts to sit down and talk about your feelings or whatever.” 

You nod against his chest, and there was a pregnant pause, a comfortable silence filled with comfort and thinking.

“It’s weird, you know,” you begin, “That outside of our own bodies, people have their own thoughts and feelings. They have their own days. Their own lives that’s different from our own…**I’m amazed at how insignificant we actually are.**”

There was another pause.

“**Not me. I’m important.**”

You laugh loudly at Michael’s small comment, feeling his own laughs pulse through his chest.

“Alright, loser, whatever.” you say, releasing yourself from his hold and going back to the TV, switching it on along with the console and the controllers. 

“Another round?”


End file.
